


Gay For Christmas

by MorningGloryxxx



Category: The Libertines
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Christmas, Coming Out, Drinking, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, M/M, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningGloryxxx/pseuds/MorningGloryxxx
Summary: Did Carl really fancy him? Were there signs? Should he have seen this coming? Or was Carl just that spectacularly drunk?
Relationships: Carl Barat/Pete Doherty
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Gay For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a secret santa and posted to albion_fic on livejournal (waaaaaay back in 2007).  
> I've since polished it up a bit. Enjoy!

"Wait, wait! I'm not done yet!"

Carl is welcomed home by two arms flailing through the widening crack in the door— _his_ door. A wayward hand smacks him across the face before he’s shoved backwards into the corridor. He stumbles and in a quite undignified manner, windmills his arms to keep his balance. Once settled, he huffs out a great breath of air to blow the fringe from his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he charges the door.

“Pete, I’m fucking exhausted––let me in!” He jiggles the door handle in vain; that _son of a bitch_ has gone and locked it. “So help me God, you’ll be sleeping on the balcony tonight if you don’t OPEN THE FUCKING”––

“Carl, mate! Fucking relax!” Pete shouts through the door.

Carl’s eyebrows knit together in a headache-inducing way. How’s Carl to sodding _relax_ when Pete’s done God-knows-what with his flat? His first instinct is to call it _their_ flat considering how long Pete’s been shacked up with him (jobless and broke) but Carl’s the one who pays the bills, so, yeah, it’s Carl’s flat. And Carl’s bedroom for that matter. Thinking back, he’s a bit fuzzy on the details, but somehow one damp and shivery night Pete insinuated himself into Carl’s room and under his warm duvet and has been there every night since. It’s not a gay sort of thing, not by any means, just two blokes––best mates, actually––sharing a bed for lack of space. (Or one of said blokes buckling down and finding a sodding job already so they could rent a larger flat. Or better yet, the bloke getting his own goddamned flat altogether.) Carl snorts a breath of irritation and presses his ear to the door. The wood is hard and cold against his cheek and he has to hold his breath so he can hear what’s going on inside.

There’s a scraping noise, a jingle-jangle, and abruptly the slice of light escaping from under the door goes black. Pete lets out a whoop of joy and suddenly the door is in motion—Carl has to jump back to avoid getting a door in the face. Once again, Pete’s long arms snake out ahead of his body, one hand grabbing Carl by the shoulder and the other slapping over his bleary eyes.

Carl stiffens at the contact, uneasy with Pete’s hands on him, especially when he can’t see a goddamned thing.

“Relax.” Pete’s mouth is close to Carl’s ear, breath hot and boozy. The intimacy of it does not make Carl shiver. Not at all. He’s chilled from tromping home in the frosty outdoors and being left stood in the breezy hallway.

Carl sighs in defeat, shoulders sagging into Pete’s warm embrace. He allows Pete to lead him inside to reveal to him whatever disaster it is he’s created because, with Pete, everything ends up a colossal mess, no matter how good his intentions are.

: :

It happened at a party. It was Halloween, not that that mattered, well, maybe it mattered a teeny bit; Carl was a pirate and to make his half-arsed costume (nothing but an eye-patch and a red bandana) complete, he insisted on only drinking Bacardi Black straight from the bottle (a sizeable one) instead of his usual whiskey and coke. He was blitzed before they had even arrived.

Pete was a parrot–– _Carl’s parrot_ , he had insisted––clad from head to toe in fluorescent-80’s lime green with a rainbow-feathered boa draped about his neck and an obscene amount of mascara slathered onto his eyelashes. His big brown eyes looked even more ridiculous than normal. He spent the night drinking indiscriminately—basically anything that was handed to him—and obnoxiously mimicking the tail end of everyone’s sentences. And although he was much too tall to perch on Carl’s shoulder all night he did make several attempts to mount him, piggybacked of course. 

It was seven, they’d only just arrived, come bounding down the hallway in their themed costumes and already Carl was stumbling about and forgetting people’s names.

“It’s Steve, you twat.” Steve punched Carl in the arm.

Carl squinted through his good eye and slurred—from the drink or a bad accent, no one will ever know—replied, “Aye me hearty, didn’t see you thar,” before he took a giant swig from his bottle.

“Oi. Captain Hook!” Pete attempted to pry the drink from Carl’s hand and failed. “C’mon. You have to share!”

“Avast lad! That be _my_ grog!” Carl bellowed back at him.

“Oh, Jesus,” Pete muttered, shaking his head. Steve just laughed.

“You’re a parrot and a parrot is a bird like the animals not the beautiful ladies and you know that birds don’t drink rum, don’tcha?” Carl swayed on his feet as he rambled on an on.

“Don’tcha? Don’tcha?” Pete squawked back until Carl silenced him with a swift kick to his feathered behind.

“How the hell do you two live together?” Steve motioned between them with his beer and Pete tried to slip it from his hand. “Pete—stoppit! Seriously, don’t you get sick of each other?”

Pete shrugged noncommittally as the corners of Carl’s mouth turned down in a pensive frown.

When the silence grew heavy and it seemed Steve expected some sort of an answer, Pete said, “Can’t afford a bigger flat.”

“Y’mean _you_ can’t afford it.” Carl pinched Pete’s arm rather roughly. Pete squealed and batted his hand away, shooting him a look of betrayal.

“Still on the dole Pete?” Steve asked casually. “Because I know a guy…”

“Yeah, I am and no thanks,” Pete answered quickly, knowing full well of the sketchy dealings Steve and his mates got into. 

“Well, you could at least do a job or two. Make some extra cash? Then poor Carl wouldn’t have to kip with you.”

“What?” Pete and Carl said in shocked unison.

“C’mon, everybody knows,” Steve (the nosy bugger) said smugly before prompting them for an answer. “Well?”

Seemingly unfazed, Pete nodded. “Yeah, so what?” 

Carl was silent but a crimson colour similar to that of his bandana crept across his cheeks and he broke out in a sweat.

“Isn’t that kind of… _gay_?” Steve accused with a sceptical raise of his eyebrow. 

“No, it’s not.” Carl found his voice and cut in forcefully, frowning. “Who said that? I – I mean _no_ , we don’t. We have a sofa. He sleeps on that and I sleep in the bedroom, although sometimes we switch. But never together, not like _that_ ,” Carl rambled on.

: :

Carl sighs again as he’s led into their darkened flat, blinded by Pete’s hand. Pete’s all too giddy, huffing warm air onto the back of Carl’s neck as he ushers him inside.

“Why’s it so minty in here?” Carl scrunches up his nose as the strong, cool smell rakes up his nostrils.

“Minty?” Pete chirps back. “Dunno, maybe…” Pete trails off as he shifts the hand clamped to Carl’s face.

“Ow! Fuck!” Carl squawks as Pete’s fingers stick to his eyelids. It pinches as he tries to pull them away.

“Oops!” Pete licks a finger and confirms with a firm nod. “‘S candy-cane.”

“Candy-cane?” Carl asks, exasperated as he rubs at his stinging eyes, his fingertips sticking to his skin as well. “Peter!”

“What?”

“You just put your dirty, sticky, mint-spackled hands IN MY BLOODY _EYES_!” Carl exclaims. He gestures wildly at his face, which is moulded into a mask of disbelief.

“Sorr-y!” Pete bottom lip juts out like he’s the one who’s been hurt. “…And, _surprise_ ,” he adds half-heartedly.

Right. There had been a reason for Pete to be getting his eyes all sticky in the first place. He finally looks about the living room of their tiny flat to survey the damage. In the corner of the room is a tall palm-leaved plant (very un-Christmas-tree-like and one Carl’s not seen before) sparsely strung with multicoloured fairy lights and a wispy strand of popcorn circling round and round. There is silver tinsel draped about the telly, the legs of their coffee table and laid across the window sill, a pile of pinecones in an old glass-blown ashtray on the table and another string of white fairy lights framing the window pane and stuck in place with duct tape. Draped over the sofa is a well-worn red and green throw with a jolly old snowman knit into it.

“This is what you did all day? While I’m out selling overpriced garbage to people with too much money who simply must get the perfect gift for that family member they hate so much?”

Pete’s face falls; this is not the reaction he had been expecting.

Carl sighs, immediately regretful of his words. “No, sorry, it’s lovely, yeah? I’m just sick of all this Christmas rubbish and maybe you should, I dunno, get a job?”

“I have a job,” Pete says defensively.

“You sat on a street corner for a few hours a day singing crap made-up songs for spare change is not a job.”

Pete plops down on the sofa. “Geez, Carlos, I was only tryin’ to cheer you up a bit––you’ve been so moody lately.”

In defeat, Carl slumps down beside Pete, his knee knocking Pete’s lightly as he does so. “Fucking hate Christmas. ‘S a waste of money, waste of time and everyone ends up frazzled and fighting.”

“I know,” Pete says softly, poking Carl’s knee. “Thought this might make coming home nicer. Maybe have a good Christmas for once, just you and me…”

“Oh, Pete.” Carl sighs, curling over with his elbows on his knees so he can stare at the carpet instead of Pete’s disappointed face. “I’ve got to catch the train home tonight; a few days with my family and I’ll be a wreck.”

“Oh,” Pete replies softly.

“Besides, I’m sure you can’t get away with not going home,” Carl says more cheerily. “I bet your mum insists on seeing you in a suit an’ a tie every year.” He glances up to smile at Pete.

“Well, er…” Pete clears his throat. “Actually, my dad’s not speaking to me so my mum thought it best if I don’t…er…”

“Oh,” falls from Carl’s lips to the floor, followed by a solemn silence. “I’d invite you to mine, but… you know”—

“Yeah, I know. Your folks don’t want me around any more than mine do.”

: :

The party was something of a bore or rather the bird Pete was chatting up was becoming a bore and his cup had been empty for a while. He made his excuses and went off to find Carl if only to be entertained by his drunken state, a sure thing considering the amount of alcohol Carl had imbibed and the speed in which he’d done so. It was his mission to become the ultimate(ly drunk) pirate. Last seen, he’d been so entirely inebriated that the drunken swagger and slurred speech of a pirate on the piss came to him effortlessly.

When Pete found him, he was in the loo, chatting himself up by way of the mirror.

Pete crept up behind him and as Pete’s reflection in the mirror wobbled into view, Carl was forced to place both hands on the sink to brace himself. “Hey, wass’ure name?” 

“Ha. Ha. I’m your flatmate, remember?” Pete snickered over Carl’s shoulder.

“Come home wi’ me, yeah gorgeous?” Carl tottered to the right as he strained to look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse the person behind him. Pete laid a steadying hand on Carl’s shoulder so he wouldn’t fall over.

“It’s _Pete_ , you moron,” Pete said sardonically as he twisted Carl about to face him.

“Well, y’look like a girl.” Carl gave him a one-eyed squint.

“Yeah, well, I’m a _parrot_.”

“I like parrots.”

“How much”––Pete began to ask but Carl cut him off, leaning in close enough that Pete could feel the heat of his body. He swallowed hard and couldn’t move a muscle.

“A lot,” Carl said, almost breathlessly. Then he breathed out, blowing enough fumes to put a small animal into a coma. Pete was deep in thought. He bit his lip and Carl lunged, pushing him back into the wall and shoving his tongue down Pete’s throat, seemingly on a mission to lick his insides and swallow him whole.

Must have been the rum.

: :

“Hey!” Pete perks up suddenly. “I forgot something,” he says merrily as he leaps up from the sofa and disappears into the kitchen.

Carl’s nearly through a mental checklist of all the gifts he’s had to buy for each family member when Pete returns, forcing a chipped mug into his hand. Santa and his reindeer wrap about it, cheery and colourful in contrast to the chalky yellow liquid inside. Trying to ignore the stupid grin taking up half of Pete’s face, Carl takes a sniff.

Eggnog.

“Er, I don’t think I like”––

“Just try it,” Pete insists, stretching his free arm across the back of the sofa and behind Carl’s head, not quite touching him. He flashes his big eyes at Carl, pleading with him.

Carl looks in the mug, narrows his eyes at Pete and then cautiously takes a sip. When he decides it’s not so bad, he tilts the mug back to get a good mouthful. Then it hits him.

Coughing, he sputters out, “Fuckin’ ‘ell Pete!”

“I made it myself,” Pete says proudly, taking a drink of his own. His eyes begin to water but the smile remains.

“Yeah, I can tell. How much rum did you use?”

“E-nough,” Pete sing-songs with a twinkle in his eye.

Carl carefully sets the mug on the coffee table. “You know I can’t drink that stuff anymore.”

A pout forms on Pete’s face as he crosses his arms petulantly.

“C’mon, Pete,” Carl says light-heartedly, “You remember what happened last time I got sloshed on rum––I puked my guts out and lost out on a really hot bird.”

“What?” Pete asks in a panic.

“That blonde girl? At Halloween––remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete mutters, “ _Her_.”

: :

Caught completely off guard and snogged into a stupor—that’s what Pete was. At first, he’d been shocked to suddenly have the lips of his best mate hot against his own, his hands pressing hard into Pete’s ribcage like he’d run otherwise, and kissing him like he meant it, needed it even.

Sure, Pete had thought about himself and Carl but only in brief moments here and there, nothing lingering, nothing like that. And Carl had made it pretty clear that he was a ladies’ man, tolerated Pete’s “peculiarities” but never spoke of them, just reminded him over and over how much he _loved_ pussy. Perhaps that should have been Pete’s first clue?

But it was all right this––a snog’s a snog, yeah? And Pete had never been one to discriminate against the giver of a proper snogging. It didn’t matter that Carl was a rum-logged pirate and Pete was dangerously close to looking like a girl––no, it was just about the heated kiss, Carl’s lips on his for the first time.

Carl made a noise and slipped, grappled at Pete’s chest to keep stood and wound up digging his nails into Pete’s side. When Pete moved to push Carl off he only succeeded in slamming his elbow into the wall. He cursed in pain but instead of his exclamation being released, “fuck!” was swallowed up by Carl’s mouth and melted away by Carl’s overzealous tongue.

That Carl was kissing him detracted his mind from the dull throbbing of his ribs and he made another noise, something akin to a gasp of satisfaction. It too was lost in the kiss. Something inside him was ablaze and he couldn’t get close enough. He grabbed Carl’s hip with one hand and clutched the back of Carl’s head with the other. In return, Carl slid his fingers up Pete’s sides and pressed in with his hips.

They both froze, simultaneously sucking in a deep breath. Panic. 

Carl was hard and the moment Pete felt it, he realised he was too. His heart began to hammer in his chest. He became hyperaware of every point of contact between them. Realization dawned: Carl was hard, hard from kissing Pete and the very thought of that caused a fluttering in his stomach like he wanted more. More Carl, more kissing, and just … _more_. 

And just like that, it was over.

Carl snapped backwards like an elastic band and made a beeline towards the toilet as Pete slumped against the wall. A cool sweat broke over his skin, his knees trembling and him wondering what the hell had just happened and why the hell it hadn’t happened before. Pete was torn from his thoughts when Carl began retching loudly from the corner.

Pete took a step forward and spoke hesitantly, “Carl? Y’alright?” immediately startled at how soft and raspy his voice had become. What the fuck did Carl do to him?

Without a word, Carl snatched the corner of the shower curtain from the bath and drew it about himself in an attempt to hide. Pete watched him for a moment before resolving to leave him alone for the time being. In a daze, he stumbled out of the loo and made his way back into the party, thoroughly confused.

: :

Carl sips idly at his eggnog and watches while Pete downs yet another cup of the horrible stuff. “Easy,” Carl teases. “What’s with you tonight? Have you not bought me a present?” Carl eyes him mischievously.

Pete grins stupidly, all big eyes and wide mouth, trying to make up for the heat in his face, flushed from the drink. “Shut up. Course I got you something.” He kicks Carl lightly in his calf before heaving himself off the sofa, wavering slightly.

Carl laughs as Pete disappears into the kitchen. He returns moments later with a box neatly wrapped in shiny silver paper and topped off with a velvety, red bow.

Carl cocks an eyebrow at the gift. “You did _not_ wrap that yourself.”

With mock-hurt, Pete deposits the package in Carl’s lap and drops down beside him, stealthily shifting much closer than he was before. He crosses his arms and purses his lips. “How d’you know? Maybe I have skills. Godly gift-wrapping skills you know nothing about.”

Carl leans in close, closer, until his nose bumps into the side of Pete’s face. The soft touch hits Pete like a freight train and he refrains from facing Carl for fear of other things colliding.

With hot breath against Pete’s neck, Carl whispers, “I know everything ‘bout you Peter Doherty. _Everything_.” Then he laughs, pulling away and poking Pete in the side with his finger, completely ruining the mood Pete has created in his head.

“Are you gonna open that or what?” Pete asks, for lack of anything else to say.

Carl fondles the bow and exclaims, “But it’s so _pretty_ ,” clearly taking the piss.

“Fine. Then don’t. Set the box on a shelf where you can stare at it for all eternity, in wonder”––Carl tears into it, yanking the bow off and stringing it about Pete’s neck. Paper flies as Carl demolishes the fancy wrapping job and Pete watches in anticipation. It’s a box. Carl peers in and pulls out some knitting, and oh, lots of knitting, long, longer until Carl realises it’s––a scarf! And a quite lengthy one at that, in patches of colour––more than Carl can count––all in different patterns and thicknesses. 

“D’you like it?” Pete questions immediately.

“Yeah, it’s brilliant!” Carl wraps it round and round his neck with a wide-eyed grin as genuine as can be.

Pete chews on a nail. “I knit it myself.”

“No? Really?” Carl looks down in disbelief, patting the soft patches and toying with the frazzled strings hanging off the ends.

“Uh-huh.” Pete nods. “Well, I got some help from the ladies at the Yarn Barn”––

“The _Yarn Barn_?” Carl bursts out laughing, knocking into Pete’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Pete says defensively. “They brought me their leftover bits and everything. That’s why it’s so mismatched,” Pete adds apologetically.

Carl smiles again. “I love it, honestly.” He leans over and smacks a kiss to Pete’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Pete grins wide and has to look away for a moment. Then he nudges Carl and says, “Now, where’s mine?”

“All right. Close your eyes, yeah?”

Pete’s heart thuds harder in his chest as he waits, listening to Carl’s footsteps through the flat. Moments later, something made of heavy fabric is tossed into his lap and Pete lets out an “Oouf!” on contact. Curiosity getting the better of him, he whines, “Car-rl.”

“All right yeah, open up.” Carl pinches Pete’s arm and teases, “Sodding _impatient_ aren’t ya?”

“Yes,” Pete replies as he opens his eyes.

“It’s nothing really,” Carl says, motioning at the thing in Pete’s lap.

Pete lifts it and realises it’s a coat. A black, woollen overcoat—something he is most definitely in need of. He stands to try it on and his mouth pops open in surprise when he catches sight of the label inside. “Fuckin’ Burberry? But, Carl…?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist––someone left it at the shop,” Carl assures him. “It was in the lost and found for ages so I nicked it.” He tosses a small package into Pete’s lap. “So, I don’t look a total cheapskate,” he adds with a wink.

Pete rips open the package barely taking note of its wrapping. Inside is a scarf. Pete laughs until he spots the tag once again reading _Burberry_. “Fuckin’ ‘ell Carl!” He wraps it about his neck and topples down, pulling Carl into a big hug. “Thanks!”

“Now you’ll be in style for all those job interviews in the New Year,” Carl says, muffled into the collar of Pete’s new coat.

Pete pulls back slowly and frowns mere inches from Carl’s face.

Carl rolls his eyes. “ _Or_ you’ll be warm, sat on your street corner all winter,” he adds with a forgiving sigh, squeezing Pete a bit tighter.

: :

After Pete had left Carl to his peace in the loo, he’d wandered about the party in a daze. Did Carl really fancy him? Were there signs? Should he have seen this coming? Or was Carl just that spectacularly drunk?

There were dozens of questions circling his brain and he was trying desperately to process the new and heated feelings he was having for his best friggin’ mate while trying to carry on normal conversations about utterly unimportant things with other people who were _not Carl_. 

And having not caught sight of Carl once since _it_ happened was beginning to worry him.

: :

“Carl, look… snow.” Pete leaps up from his cosy spot on the sofa to go gaze out the window.

“Bollocks––I should go. Don’t wanna get stuck somewhere.” Carl stands and stretches. “You know how crap my car is in the cold.”

Pete nods solemnly as Carl goes to retrieve his things from his bedroom. The windowpane is ice cold and when Pete breathes out, he fogs up the glass. With his index finger, he carefully outlines a heart and sighs. Carl returns and the noise his bag makes when he drops it by the door startles Pete. Pete quickly wipes away the heart. He dries his hand on his jeans and with a weight in his chest, moves to see Carl off.

“Thanks again for the scarf.” Carl smiles and wraps it once more about his neck, burying his nose behind a patch of orange and blue stripes.

“Aw, it’s rubbish compared to this one,” Pete says, still wearing his new, fashionably, checked scarf.

Shuffling the fabric away from his mouth, Carl replies earnestly, “No, Pete, it’s lovely. I love it. Truly.”

An expectant silence embraces them as they remain stood there, unspeaking and simply gazing at one another.

“Be careful, yeah?” Pete whispers, reaching out to tug on the sleeve of Carl’s jacket.

“Ok, _mum_ ,” Carl says lightly with a glint in his eye.

Pete smiles faintly and without thinking, leans in and kisses Carl square on the lips. He leaves them there, smooshed together but unmoving. Carl moves back minutely, licks his lips and presses in, more firmly this time. They both close their eyes and they’re kissing properly. It’s Halloween night all over again only this time Pete is the instigator and a fairly sober one at that.

In a delayed reaction, Carl pulls back and breathlessly manages out a, “What…?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but doesn’t move away.

In a moment of panic, Pete sputters out, “Mistletoe,” as though it should be completely obvious.

A glance upwards reveals a bare doorframe, completely void of mistletoe or any other greenery. Carl raises an eyebrow in question.

Pete’s cheeks redden as he works out a viable excuse in his head. “ _Invisible_ mistletoe. That’s all,” he says, attempting nonchalance and taking a step back from Carl.

“Right,” Carl mutters. “Anyway, I should go. Looks downright miserable out there.”

Pete simply nods in reply, shoulders drooping as Carl gathers his bags and leaves.

: :

After stumbling from the loo, Carl had wandered about the partygoers, their music and laughter ringing through his ears as he attempted to regain control of his booze-addled body and befuddled brain. Sure, he had felt better after his giant purge of rum, but only for a brief second. Only until he’d heard Pete laughing somewhere else in the room and Carl remembered what had just happened between them. Hiding at that point, seemed the best option.

Now the game was to avoid Pete, at least until Carl figured out what the hell to say and how to explain the sudden need for Pete’s lips upon his. He was drunk? Blame it on the rum?

In the kitchen, he caught sight of a blonde in a nurse’s outfit, sat on the counter and sucking on a Heineken. She made eye contact and he sauntered over, mind already abuzz with all the saucy and clever things he was going to say to coerce her into going home with him. 

: :

Pete’s sat on the sofa, pouting at the fluffy white sky out the window when the front door opens and Carl comes tumbling in. His hair’s a wreck and he’s spattered with damp spots from the snow.

“Carlos!” Pete shoots up, eggnog sloshing over his hand and onto the sofa. “Did something happen? You didn’t make it to your mum’s?”

“Nothing, and I did.” Carl divests himself of his coat and shakes out his hair.

“Y couldn’t have made it there and back…?”

“Just made it, actually. Enough time to drop off the presents. Then I came back.”

Pete’s eyes widen. “But _why_?”

A frown creases over Carl’s brows and crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Dunno.” He breathes out a sigh through his nose, his expression that of one who is thinking intense thoughts.

“Carlos?”

“Why’d you do that?” he blurts out, slightly frustrated. “Y’know, earlier just… why?”

Oh.

Pete could name any one of a bazillion different things Carl could be referring to, but there’s not much point, not when Carl’s eyebrows are gesturing ever-so-slightly at the top of the doorframe directly above his head. Above him, where once the mythical mistletoe hung and beneath which Pete made his move. _The move,_ actually, the one Pete’s pondered endlessly in search of the right time and place.

Pete chickens out. “Do what?” he asks, putting on his best impersonation of an innocent bystander in this accusation. He casually licks the sticky eggnog from the back of his hand.

“You know exactly what I’m referring to,” Carl snaps back.

Guilt, coupled with embarrassment, sent by way of a rush of blood to his cheeks and a sick sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach is not enough to convince Pete to change his tune. 

“No idea,” Pete says, topping it off with a noncommittal shrug.

Carl glowers back at him. “Fine. If you want to keep playing games then I’m driving back to my mum’s and you won’t see me again ‘til New Years.” It’s a daunting threat but Carl fails to back it up by continuing to stand there, eyeing Pete sullenly. He folds his arms across his chest, eyebrow twitching with impatience.

“All right,” Pete says plainly, “How ‘bout you tell me _what_ I did, and then”––

“But YOU _KNOW_!” Carl says, exasperated. “Why do you do this shit, Pete? If you wanted me to stay here you should’ve just said so instead of fucking pretending and trying to manipulate me like you always do…”

“ _Like I always do?_ ” Pete repeats back slowly, stunned and spiked right through the heart. “I didn’t”—

“You did.” Carl’s voice softens, now void of anger but he remains stern. “All you had to do was ask and I would’ve stayed. You’re my best mate and you didn’t have to”—he flaps a hand in the air, trailing off instead of saying it aloud.

“Have to what?” Pete mumbles, the question flying from his lips before he can think to stop it.

Enraged, Carl stomps through the living room, grabs Pete by the shoulders and shakes him, shouting, “Fucking kiss me, you cunt!”

Deciding to interpret it as an invitation instead of the accusation it’s meant to be, Pete seizes Carl’s face with his hands and kisses him roughly. Carl allows it for a moment, before pulling back. A flurry of emotions cross his face before he settles on slightly stunned. He mutters, “I need a stiff”––Pete’s eyes widen dramatically. An ugly scowl contorts Carl’s face—“Drink, Pete. A stiff _drink_.”

“Oh… right,” Pete says dumbly. He’s a bit dazed and confused himself. “A stiff drink.”

: :

Pete was flicking channels. Flicking, flicking, flicking. Even though it wasn’t Halloween yet, there were an abundance of rubbish horror films playing on the telly, and on every sodding channel, it seemed. Actually, the worst horror film was happening right in his own flat (Carl's flat—let's be honest); as he sat flicking, Carl was in their bedroom fucking the nurse.

Fucking, fucking, fucking.

The volume was cranked to a deafening level so Pete couldn’t hear any actual sex noises, just those conjured up in his imagination. He sighed and turned himself upside down on the sofa, swinging his legs over the backrest and letting the blood rush to his head instead of fuelling the pounding of his conflicted heart.

He lay like that until he got light-headed and as he was contemplating setting himself upright again, the bedroom door swung open.

“Turn that fuckin’ thing down! Candi says you’re ruining the mood,” Carl spat out as he passed through to the kitchen in nothing but his boxers.

“ _Candi_?” Pete snorted before scowling at the empty air and upping the volume a few notches.

Carl eventually came back to stare Pete down, face wet and set into a scowl. He snatched the remote from Pete’s hand and turned the volume down himself and began talking, scolded Pete with something like, “Stop being such a twat! Just because I’m getting laid and you’re not, doesn’t mean…” Not that Pete was listening; Carl was motioning frantically, his hips jutting out towards Pete’s head and Pete’s eyes a mere foot away from the bulge in Carl’s threadbare boxers.

All Pete could do was swallow hard, hoping to catch his breath and get some oxygen to his brain. Carl froze for a moment, eyes sharp and wide before he took off like a bolt of lightning back to the bedroom. Not five seconds later, Carl was moaning loud enough to wake the neighbours and Pete could make out the sound of the mattress hitting the wall.

Slowly, Pete raised the sound on the telly until it was back up to its original volume and masking the racket coming from the bedroom. He chewed on his lip and wondered if he should lock himself in the loo to have a wank or just do it on the sofa.

He rubbed his thumb down the front of his trousers, pressed down hard and finally squeezed his hardening erection through the zip.

The bedroom door swung open again.

“Just forget it, Craig!” The blonde, whose name Pete had wilfully not remembered, shouted as she teetered towards the front door in her white stilettos. Pete snorted at the thought of a nurse tending to patients in three-inch heels. She’d put her costume back on—bless her—but was clutching her bra and pants. She completed her dramatic exit with a slam of the door, leaving Carl stood staring at it helplessly.

Pete laughed in spite of himself.

“Fuck. You.” Carl glowered at him. A patch of angry red flared across his cheek and his fists balled up. “You’re sleeping on the sofa from now on and if I hear even one decibel of sound from that thing it’s going out the window and you won’t be far behind it.”

Carl was dead serious too. From that point on, Carl locked his bedroom door and made Pete sleep on the sofa. Every. Sodding. Night.

: :“This is all your fault, y’know,” Pete says matter-of-factly. He turns to Carl who is merely sipping on the whiskey he’d insisted on having before any more conversation take place.

“Me?!” Carl sputters. “What’d I do?” His drink sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the glass and Pete is slapped with the thought of sucking the booze from Carl’s fingers.

“Fucking _Halloween_? Snogging me in the loo? This”––Pete motions back and forth between the two of them––“would not have ever crossed my mind were it not for you, y’know…” 

“I was off my tits. Didn’t know who you were!” Carl slams his glass down on the table before he can spill it.

“Bollocks. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Was I any good?” Carl mumbles, half-joking but eyeing Pete carefully for his response.

“What?” Pete’s eyes grow wide. “So, you admit it?”

“Well, you seemed to enjoy it.”

“So did you!”

“Pete, I’m not queer,” Carl says petulantly.

“Oh, fuck off with that nonsense.”

They stare each other down until Pete gives in and lunges at Carl, pinning him to the back of the sofa and sticking his tongue straight into Carl’s mouth. Carl kisses him back and he right into until he’s suddenly not. He pushes Pete away lightly, peeling their lips apart with an apology. Pete’s left flushed and breathing heavily and thinking he should be the one making apologies.

“Fuck!” Carl puts his face in his hands and shakes his head. 

“I’m not.”

“Carl,” Pete murmurs, taking hold of Carl’s knee and squeezing it gently. “Carl it’s OK. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Taken aback, Carl quickly looks up at him and begins to chew on a fingernail.

“No, I mean,” Pete takes a breath and gently pulls Carl’s hand from his mouth. “Look, Carl, I like you, like _really_ like you, and ever since that night, I, well I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it… thinking about you—like that, y’know?” He rubs his thumb over the back of Carl’s hand and continues. “Whatever this is it doesn’t make you... I mean, you don’t have to be anything. Just, don’t fight this because of a stupid label or what you think people might say. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Carl relaxes a little and they sit there in silence. Eventually, Carl tugs his hand from Pete’s grip. “I just… I don’t think it’s me.” He sighs and looks down into his lap to avoid Pete’s gaze. “It’s a mild curiosity and I don’t think it’s a good idea. With you, I mean. I like how we are and I don’t want to arse that up.”

“But what if it could be better? Hell, Carlos, it could be _amazing_.” Pete’s eyes are big and sad but he refuses to look away.

Carl gives him a tentative look. “Or it could all go horribly wrong,” he says morosely, rising to his feet. “I’m sorry Pete, I don’t think I can handle this, I…” He rakes a hand through his hair leaving it more dishevelled than before. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning, yeah?” He pats Pete’s shoulder and quietly pads off to his bedroom.

Pete bites the side of his lower lip to stave off the tears welling up in his eyes. A few escape, trailing down his cheek and he roughly wipes them away, silently telling himself to get a grip. He pulls the festive throw from the back of the sofa and cocoons himself in it, laying down and burying his face in a cushion as the waterworks rage out of control.

: :

The only reason Carl was still on his feet at all was the fact that Candi, the nurse he’d brought home, was latched tightly onto his arm. The eye patch was to blame really, giving him two-dimensional vision that caused him to trip over his own feet and bump into furniture. That and the several beers he’d refuelled himself with after losing his rum in the loo.

Yeah, back when he’d mistaken Pete for a girl and well… he’d been drunk. That’s all. Sneaky twat shouldn’t wear so much eyeliner or whatever. His eyes were big enough as it was.

“It’s _Halloween,_ Carl,” Candi said matter-of-factly, “Everyone wears make-up, even blokes. Your eyes are nicer than his anyway.”

Shit. He’d spoken aloud.

“Screw Pete,” Carl slurred as he dragged Candi over to the bed, pulling her on top of him and causing her to squeal. And how had they gotten into the bedroom so quickly? “I mean, forget him,” Carl continued. “He’s a twat.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Candi muttered, getting right to it by immediately stripping Carl of his shirt and trousers. “Now are we doing this or what?”

“Well ’s true,” Carl said with a stubborn frown, “He’s such a–– _uhhhh_.”

Candi had his dick in her mouth and for a moment Carl lost track of his thoughts.

“That’s really…” Carl murmured, relaxed for a brief moment until—“Pete! Fuckin’ telly––fuckin’ Pete!” Carl sat up, firing a dirty look in the direction of the bedroom door. “Just,” Carl said to Candi as he shifted, “Gimme a sec,” and wiggled his hips until she was fully dislodged.

“Come on!” she complained.

“Hold on.” He tugged up his boxers and stomped out in the living room.

“Turn that fuckin’ thing down!” Carl ordered Pete, who was draped upside down on the sofa. He looked cosy and kissable and––wait, _wrong_. Carl also remembered he was in nothing but boxers and although this was nothing new, he felt a stab of discomfort. “Candi says you’re ruining the mood,” he spat. out on his way to the kitchen.

“ _Candi_?” Pete called after him as though Carl had brought home a prostitute.

In the safety of the kitchen, Carl went straight to the sink, turned the tap on and splashed his face with cold water, hoping to wash away what? The thoughts he was having? He took a decidedly deep breath, prepared himself to be firm (and who the fuck cares if he’s in his boxers? Hard? That’s from a _girl,_ thanks!), and strutted back into the living room. 

Carl marched right up to the sofa, yanked the remote from Pete’s hand and lowered the volume. “Stop being such a twat! Just because I’m getting laid and you’re not, doesn’t mean…” Carl trailed off when he realised his crotch was bobbing approximately a foot from Pete’s astonished face. 

Carl panicked, heart pounding as a blush crept across his cheeks. Gritting his teeth, he spun about again, retreating to his bedroom. 

It took him approximately five seconds to find a condom, slide it on and shove Candi into the mattress (for which she exclaimed, “Ooh, rough––that’s more like it!” and flipped over onto her stomach).

Carl closed his eyes and fucked her hard. Fucked her until his brain cells began to ooze away, thoughts blurred together and eventually he was fucking Pete. Fuck… _Pete_.

“What did you say?” She snapped her head up and nailed Carl right in the face.

“Ow! Fuckin’ nothing,” he groaned as he pulled away from her to rub his chin.

She twisted sideways, shoving him off. “Get off me, you friggin’ Gaylord!”

“What?” Carl tumbled onto his back and whined, “C’mon, please… baby.”

“ _Baby_?” Candi laughed, a high-pitched evil sort of laugh that knit Carl’s eyebrows together in fury. “Maybe some other time when you’re sober enough to remember my name.”

“Please?” Carl begged once more, clambering off of the bed and following behind her like a lost puppy.

Snatching her things from the floor, she marched to the door and yanked it open, turning back just long enough to shout, “Just forget it, Craig!” before leaving the flat entirely as Carl watched from the doorway, dumbfounded.

Another evil cackle echoed out through the living room. _Pete_.

Carl had had just about enough humiliation for the evening. “Fuck. You.” He willed Pete to stop by narrowing his eyes and contemplating punching him right in his fat gob. When it didn’t work, he spat out, “You’re sleeping on the sofa from now on and if I hear even one decibel of sound from that thing it’s going out the window and you won’t be far behind it.” in as threatening a tone as he could muster. Then he went back to bed and as much as it bothered him to do so, kept his word from that point on if only to spite Pete.

: :

Cold and unable to sleep, Pete watches the snow fall, flakes fluttering against the window and gently building up on the panes of glass. Eventually, the bedroom door creaks open and Carl tiptoes his way into the living room. Pete’s gaze doesn’t stray from the window and the spot where he’d drawn and then washed away the outline of a heart.

When it’s clear Pete’s not going to acknowledge him, Carl whispers, “Pete?”

Pete shuts his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

"Pete, you awake?” Carl crouches down and pokes him in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Pete growls, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. “What?”

“S’past midnight, so… happy Christmas,” Carl mumbles.

“Oh.” Feeling a twinge of guilt, Pete opens his eyes to say, “Happy Christmas.” They stare at each other for what feels an eternity before Pete adds, “Carl, it’s _freezing_ out here.” He reaches out with icy fingertips and grasps Carl’s hand to prove his point.

Carl flinches at the contact but responds by rubbing Pete’s fingers between his own. He sighs with as much drama as he can muster and mutters, “Okay then,” and pulls Pete to his feet. “But no funny business. Keep your hands to yourself, understand?”

A tiny smile pulls at the corners of Pete’s mouth. “That depends––you gonna let go of me?” The words roll off Pete’s tongue as he motions down at Carl’s warm hands still working at his.

With a scowl, Carl quickly drops them. “I’m serious, Pete.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete mutters as he trails Carl to the bedroom.

They burrow under the duvet on their respective sides, not touching, not one little bit, and Pete takes a deep breath to prepare himself to challenge that.

“Carl, I’m still cold,” Pete whines, hoping the same tactic will get him similar results.

“Put a jumper on.”

“Car-rl,” Pete whinges and wiggles about needlessly.

It’s too dark for Carl to see him but he can sense the Doherty-pout from a mile away. “What?” he says flatly. “If this is a ploy to feel me up then you can go right back to the sofa.”

“We used to cuddle. How come you won’t now?” Feigning innocence, Pete asks, “Is it because you kissed me?”

“I did not”––Carl starts angrily and then takes a deep breath. “Pete. I’m. Not. Gay.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“So, because you’re most definitely not gay, you won’t cuddle anymore? Does that mean you were gay before when we used to”––

Carl slaps a hand over Pete’s mouth to quiet him. “Oh, just shut the hell up!” he groans as he rolls into Pete, lassos his arms about him roughly and drags him closer.

Pete squeals out in surprise but relents to the move, hugging Carl back and shuffling lower until his face is pressed into Carl’s chest, close enough to feel his heartbeat against his cheek. He grins, despite the fact that his arm is getting crushed between them and Carl’s knee is digging into his side, probably as a failsafe against Pete and his wandering hands.

With a heavy sigh, Carl breathes out through his nose, blowing warm air onto Pete’s cheek. He tucks his fingers into Pete’s hair and tugs through it gently. His other hand is clenched in the hem of Pete’s t-shirt, knuckles dangerously close to the soft skin of his back.

Pete shifts closer, his hand mirroring Carl’s, only Pete has the gumption to bypass his t-shirt material entirely, softly stroking his fingertips up Carl’s spine. Carl tenses against him, trying to mask the tremors it causes, but he doesn’t pull away or stop moving his fingers through Pete’s hair.

“This is nice, yeah?” Pete murmurs into Carl’s chest.

“Shhhh,” Carl hushes him. He drags his hand down Pete’s face, cupping his hand round his jaw and tugging his chin up to kiss him.

Even though he has (in all honesty) been anticipating it, been trying _desperately_ to get Carl to kiss him again, Pete gasps into it, tipping his head back and opening up for whatever Carl’s got to offer. They bump lips and Carl pulls back slightly before pressing in again. Impatient from all the waiting and wound up tight, Pete lets his tongue lead the way, kissing Carl like there’s no tomorrow; in the blink of an eye, Carl may very well change his mind again.

But he hasn’t, not yet. He’s kissing Pete back just as fervently, hands roaming and grasping at Pete’s jaw, fingers more confident and sliding under the hem of Pete’s shirt to touch the flesh of his hip. And Pete wants to return the embrace, wants to touch Carl everywhere but one arm is still locked between them and he’s still not sure, is still waiting for Carl’s overthinking brain to catch up with his overzealous body and stop more from happening.

Carl’s hand trails lower, gives a firm squeeze to Pete’s arse, a move warrant of a response and Pete decides—sod it—it’s worth the risk. He presses his free hand into Carl’s lower back, urging him closer and then rubs his way up his spine until Carl’s t-shirt is bunched up around Pete’s wrist. He scratches with his fingertips, grips Carl’s shoulder blades before cupping his hand round the back of Carl’s neck. Closer, he needs to be closer _._ Pete twists to free his other arm and manoeuvres Carl onto his back. It’s a struggle to keep their mouths pressed together, but he succeeds. 

Led solely by his blazing erection, neglected up until now, Pete shuffles until he’s almost on top of Carl and his hips make an involuntary thrust downwards. When Pete’s cock makes sweet contact with Carl’s thigh, he grinds down in a most luxurious way, moaning his relief into Carl’s mouth.

Carl freaks.

It takes a few seconds for it all to register, but as swiftly as this seduction began, it ends with Carl breaking the kiss, seizing Pete by the shoulders and shoving him off. With a panicked look on his face, he pulls his knees up to his chest and stares at the mattress.

Flushed with humiliation and want, Pete recoils, nearly toppling off the bed. He shifts his limbs clumsily until he’s sat on the edge with his back to Carl. He’s been sideswiped once again. He wants to cry. Or possibly pummel Carl into the mattress until he admits that he likes kissing Pete. But it’s Christmas, and Carl clearly has issues, and Pete doesn’t have the heart to fight, not to mention that above all else, he has a desperate need to deal with this hard-on that isn’t going anywhere.

Pushing his fists deep into the duvet for leverage, Pete makes a shaky motion to stand up. He doesn’t make it as Carl’s grabbed hold of his wrist, forcing him back down. 

“Pete… where’re you goin’?”

“Just, give me a few minutes, yeah?” Pete can’t look at him.

Then Carl starts laughing, jiggling Pete’s arm up and down. With a magnificent frown, Pete tries to regain control of his arm but it’s nearly impossible turned away like this, with Carl unwilling to let go.

“C’mon, Pete. I’m sorry.”

Pete tries once more to jerk his wrist from Carl’s grip. “Ow! Carl, lemme go!”

Carl stills, his grip loosening but fingers still wrapped about Pete’s arm. “Want me to wank you off?” 

“Fuck off, Carl,” Pete snaps back. “It’s not funny.”

“Pe-ter.” Carl inches up behind him. He digs his knees into Pete’s back, freeing Pete’s wrist only to snake his arms about Pete’s upper body so he can’t possibly think of moving. Tucking his chin over Pete’s shoulder and giving him a soft squeeze, Carl apologises in a breathy whisper. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t taking the piss.” 

Pete exhales slowly, relaxing under the warm weight of Carl wrapped about him.

“This is just, _weird_ , yeah?” Carl mumbles into Pete’s shoulder.

“No,” Pete says flatly, “‘S not. Let me go. I’m going back to the sofa.”

“Don’t.” Carl places an easy kiss to Pete’s neck and tightens his embrace. Slowly but purposefully, he trails his hand down Pete’s chest, right to the bottom of his t-shirt and slips his hand underneath. He smooths his fingers over the soft skin of Pete’s stomach and Pete takes a gasped breath, praying that Carl will see this through. Carl’s hand dips lower and lower until his fingertips brush against the band of Pete’s pyjama bottoms. Then, without hesitation, he slides his hand under the elastic and touches his fingers to the head of Pete’s cock.

“ _Carl_.” Pete whimpers, rolling his head back onto Carl’s shoulder and bumping his nose on Carl’s jaw. He wants to protest but can’t find the words. If Carl stops mid-wank, Pete will surely die.

“I want to,” Carl murmurs back, answering the question that never got asked. He turns his head and kisses Pete, stroking firmly. Every hot slip of Carl’s hand sends Pete deeper and deeper until he’s light-headed and most thankful that Carl’s propping him up from behind him. Pete closes his eyes and gives himself over to Carl, trusting him not to stop suddenly or toss him to the floor. 

Carl twists sideways to press his nose hard against the curve of Pete’s neck, his cheek warm and lips wet. His free hand finds Pete’s jaw, cups it and brings it closer to his so their mouths can meet in a sloppy kiss. 

Pete moans into it, neck strained but grateful for Carl’s lips, soft and prodding at Pete’s like he’s lost in the sensation. So is Pete, his body thrumming with heat and Carl’s hand igniting electricity he’s never felt before. It rages up and down his cock. Pete tries to slip his tongue between Carl’s lips and Carl presses harder into Pete to make it happen and simultaneously Pete feels Carl’s erection digging into his back.

The rhythm of Carl’s hand slows as he’s distracted by the kiss and his own arousal. Frantic, Pete grapples for Carl’s hand and urges him to speed it up. A few seconds is all it takes before Carl gets the hint and picks up the pace, kissing him more aggressively and shamelessly rubbing his hard dick into Pete’s hip.

Carl digs his fingertips into Pete’s shoulder and with one swift swipe of his thumb over the head of Pete’s cock and a slick stroke down, Pete’s coming. Carl holds him tightly, squeezing him through the judders. He kisses Pete’s neck with a tenderness that makes Pete want to cry.

Pete stills and there’s an awkward beat when Carl removes his hand from Pete’s pyjamas and just holds it in the air, unsure of what to do with it now that it’s sticky and covered in Pete’s come. Quickly, to head off any doubts or second thoughts, Pete guides Carl’s hand to his t-shirt, wipes it clean and then struggles out of it. He tosses it to the floor and turns to face Carl, cautiously and making very direct eye contact as he gently kisses him on the lips.

Pete goes against his natural instincts to talk, to ask Carl if he’s okay, even to say ‘thank you’, and bites his tongue instead, not leaving a breath of a moment between them before he pushes Carl backwards on the bed. Immediately, Pete turns and clambers over him, reaching out first to palm the front of Carl’s pyjama bottoms and then craning down to kiss him again, open-mouthed and wet before Carl can protest.

Drawing a path of kisses, Pete’s lips make their way over Carl’s chin and down his neck as he works a hand under the elastic band at Carl’s waist. Carl shudders when Pete’s hand slips around his cock. With his lips still working at Carl’s neck, Pete uses his other hand to bunch up Carl’s top and only then does he transfer his mouth to Carl’s chest.

Pete kisses down, down, down, quite hastily before abruptly taking Carl’s cock into his mouth, stretching wide and forcing it in as far as possible, giving Carl not a moment to consider what’s about to happen. Carl lets out a yelp of surprise (good, fantastic, _ohmygod I’m in ecstasy,_ sort of surprise) and tenses up. 

Pete would laugh but he’s stifled by a heavy mouthful of cock. He tongues at the head and sucks harder, and with feathery fingertips toys with Carl’s balls, too impatient to drag this out. And by Carl’s frantic squeals and squirms, neither is he. He rakes his hands through Pete’s hair, pushing down just a little and bucking up. But Pete’s a pro, has given plenty of head and pulls up just in time to avoid choking. Bracing an arm over Carl’s abdomen, he licks over the head teasingly before sucking Carl’s beautiful cock back into his mouth.

Carl lets out a pathetic moan, presumably Pete’s name and a curse word melded into one and whimpered out intelligibly. His body jerks and as he yanks on a handful of Pete’s hair, Pete is gifted with a mouthful of come. Pete swallows diligently, licking and sucking until Carl’s spent and flopping around like a dead fish. He tugs on Pete’s neck to urge him to move up the bed.

Pete crawls up slowly, hesitant to meet Carl’s gaze _just in case_. But Carl touches his face and meets his eyes, reassuring him with a sly smirk and a languid kiss. Worn out emotionally and body exhausted, Pete settles in beside Carl, draping an arm over his chest and nuzzling his nose into the crook of Carl’s neck. Carl smiles, brushing his fingers against Pete’s other hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Pete?” Carl says softly.

“Wha?” Pete mumbles into Carl’s neck.

“I think I might be a little bit gay.”

Pete bursts out laughing. “You think? Guess Santa got my letter then,” Pete adds slyly.

“You asked him for a wank for Christmas?”

“No,” Pete considers, “To make you _gay_ for Christmas.”

Not missing a beat Carl adds, “Well, if you’re lucky, maybe it’ll stick ‘til New Year’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, let me know! Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
